Free of the Stabbing Pain

You know that fancy,
Having a broken glass in hand
Sharp, and striking it through the wrist
Over and over again!

Tearing everything in the path
The threads, the skin, veins
Gushing blood and moments of pain
Counting till the last

Visions of all the was
the knives that stabbed
cups, full of poison
and that helplessness…

And now free, free of everything
Free of all the stabbing pain

 

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I Ain’t

“Your conversations, darling
mean a whole lot more
take another perspective
dig in a little more

There are signs, little diversions
indirect indications
things can get a little shady
don’t dig your own grave.”

I pondered, reflected, introspected
“How could words be so twisted;
communication misinterpreted
intentions turned topsy turvy”

Guilt, shame, utter pain
my eyes couldn’t have cried more
a blatant blame onto me
Flash floods!

Stepping back a little while later
recalling all I had said
the message I wanted to imply
my naivety!

I stand in front of a mirror
stare; peek into; ask questions
Guilty? At fault?
I get my answer.

No, I ain’t an attention seeker!